


Keep Holding On

by Reality 2_0 (reality_2_0)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8553070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reality_2_0/pseuds/Reality%202_0
Summary: set the night Nov. 8/9, 2016; some much needed TLC





	

Standing with her back to him, she quietly put the phone down after having made one of the hardest calls of her life.

Her hand still on the receiver, she stood motionless. By her posture, though, he could tell that she was crying silently. Once it had become clear that, against all odds, all was lost for them, she had calmly asked everybody to leave them alone. Even their daughter had left with their staff and friends. He was the only one she could bear having near, the one she needed, the one she leant on, the one she counted on to help her through this.

So he moved to do exactly that, turning her around into his arms, holding her as tight as he possibly could against his chest without hurting her, burying his face in her hair as he allowed his own tears to fall.

For how long they stood like this, drawing strength and comfort from each other, he didn’t know. Eventually, it was she who, by raising her head and looking him in the eyes, broke the quietude of the moment.

“Let’s finish this,” she said quietly.

“Let’s go home,” he countered as he dried her tears with a tissue, carefully cleaning up the smudged mascara in the process, before wiping his own eyes and escorting her out of the room.

Everybody who had been told to leave earlier was standing in the hallway, leaning against the walls, against each other, their faces tearstained and shocked.

“We can’t just leave. I still have to…,” she started to protest.

“All you have to do is rest. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.” Ignoring her glare, he turned to John. “Have the draft at ours in the morning. We’ll look it over then. Handle the rest.”

It was understood that “the rest” was the media, and that handling meant a statement that said essentially nothing more than “no comment”.

Podesta nodded. Bill Clinton might not have been his boss, but he was clearly taking charge, having the best interest of his wife in mind. Since her best interest was the common goal of everybody in the room, nobody protested or attempted to seek the approval of their real boss. If she didn’t voice her disapproval, her husband’s word counted as hers under these circumstances.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at him. “Okay.” Then she turned to her campaign manager and friend. “Thank you.”

Again, Podesta nodded. “Try to get some sleep.” He locked eyes with Bill, wordlessly inquiring whether there was anything else she, he, they needed, asking him to take good care of the woman they all loved and admired.

Bill squeezed John’s shoulder and then guided his wife to the escalator to get her home.

 

“And now?” she asked when the door closed behind them.

“Now, I’m still proud of you, and I love you. We’ll go to bed, and figure out what to do next later. We always do.”

Leaning down, he kissed her tenderly to assure her that they would get through this together, that he was with her all the way, that they were strong enough together, that they had each other.

In order to help her out of her coat, he released her hand he had kept holding on to since they had left behind her team. Obviously, she needed the connection as much as he did for the moment he had hung their coats, she reached for his hand again, leaning against him like she had done earlier.

He wished he were twenty years younger so he could simply pick her up and carry her to bed. As it was, though, he had to settle for tender words and gentle nudging.

Leaving the shoes in the foyer, they slowly made their way together to the bathroom, discarding pieces of clothes as they went. Those would have to be picked up before they could greet company in the morning, but for now, they couldn’t care less about the trail they left.

Once they reached the bathroom, he took a minute to remove her make-up. This wasn’t a task he was normally allowed to perform. Make-up and she had a long history of ignorance and disagreements, but they had learned to get along. While she didn’t have as much of a ritual as his mother, who would have rather died than leave the house without her perfect mask on, had had, she tended to use the time at the end of the day to reflect on its events. Right now, that was the last thing he wanted her to do. He wanted her to focus on him, his love for her. So he placed a soft kiss on each part her bared – forehead, nose, cheeks, chin, eyelids, lips.

“Beautiful,” he stated once he was done, making her smile a little.

They then divested each other of the remaining clothes – socks and underwear – and got into the shower, never breaking skin contact for long. There would be a time for them to mourn and work through the loss separately, but for now, they found solace in each other, needed the touch, the physical expression of their love.

While he had intended for the shower to be a short affair so she could get as much sleep as possible, she seemed to have other ideas, and far was it from him to deny her – especially tonight.

Forty years ago, there probably would have been some urgent, hard coupling against the wall involved. Today, she paid close attention to every square inch of his skin as she took her time washing him. Although he would have enjoyed it more under different circumstances, he didn’t mind being the object of her distraction one tiny bit. After he had rinsed, he repaid her attention and ministrations in kind with a tender but sure touch. He took his time washing her hair, massaging her scalp. When she sighed contently, he knew he had reached his goal: She relaxed. The last bit of tension disappeared from her body. She was living in the moment, forgot about everything else for a few precious minutes.

It almost broke his heart that he couldn’t draw this out forever, that this bubble would burst sooner rather than later, that reality would hit them, that there was no chance of escaping it. Despite knowing that she was stronger than he was and would come out on top after this hard blow, he felt the need to protect her. The fact that it wasn’t in his power made his heart ache.

Lovingly stroking her back, he turned off the water. For a moment, they stood motionless in the shower stall, their eyes locked.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I love you,” he replied, kissing her.

He opened the cubicle and grabbed a towel to wrap her in before he covered himself.

Continuing the theme she had started, he carefully toweled her dry and then stood quietly while she reciprocated.

Once they were dry and clad in their sleepwear, he wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her to the bedroom.

The usual division of “your side, my side” didn’t apply tonight as she got into bed and he slipped in right behind her, wrapping her in his arms, her front pressed against his, her head tugged under his chin.

“Sleep,” he quietly urged her.

“I don’t think…”

“Sleep,” he repeated and started humming one of her favorite ballads.

He could feel her smile as she snuggled impossibly closer.

Nothing would come between them tonight. At least for a few hours, he could guard and shelter her.

He wouldn’t close his eyes until he was sure she had fallen asleep. Only then did he allow himself to cry more silent tears and get some sleep himself.

They would both have to stand tall in the morning – he for her, she for the country.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> 2.1 and I suffered through this together. We had a discussion about what to do next, and decided to follow the leader - we'll go on. This OTP makes us way too happy to let it go. Actually, thinking about them is what's getting us through. They are our therapy.  
> After this ficlet, we'll be back to our regular posting schedule. However, there'll be 12 days of Christmas instead of one story at the end of December.  
> Hang in tight, everyone!


End file.
